Best Frustratingly Poems
On a monotone Monday,
under grey skies with perpetual rain,
I became a devotee to your magnificence.
A poetic pilgrim wandering upon a path,
which would lead me to your embrace.
Intoxicated with your romantic reflection,
my ink is seduced in your rumination.
My passion is like the raging sea,
come feel my love, come satisfy me.
Oceans apart, I swim in sensual shores,
that would bring me to your door,
but alone, I drown in shallow streams.
I've become jealous of departing birds,
craving for the clouds to carry me
from lilac dusks to scarlet dawns,
so I can ascend like sunrise,
descend upon you like sunset.
You are the essence of nature,
I, a mighty tree bowing to it's mistress,
desiring your heart and soul,
not just your earthly existence,
Your love strengthens my roots,
as they spread rapidly to reach you.
My hands have become lonely,
without your fingers interlocked in-between.
Your aroma intoxicates my senses,
your persona like perfumed petals,
weaves poetry inside my mind,
which flows upon a seedless garden,
patiently waiting for soothing blossoms.
There is no remedy for my syndrome,
as each day without you,
I relapse,
without your rehabilitative scarlet lips.
Kiss me like poetry,
before I suffocate,
drain me into a steamy silence,
where there is no need for verses,
so we can merge in carnal mists.
Lust is an infatuated captive animal,
a starved beast frustratingly caged.
Set me free...
For you hold the key.
Time cries for you, reluctantly moving,
with each beat of our hearts.
In darkness I supplicate with the stars,
with your name on the tip of my tongue.
Devotion is a unity of parts,
only we can piece it together.
With you I want Sunday mornings,
where our eyes meet in rousing raptures
with your lips as my nourishing nutrient.
Love is not just an emotion,
it's a whimsical fluctuating journey -
and you are my final resting place.
These footsteps fell harder than yesterday’s
Harder than most actually
Nonetheless, the urge to take what is mine in the world and go is…
Frustratingly close to the heart of who I thought I was.
So these footsteps remind the world that running is…..
These footsteps feel heavier than last week’s
I guess the weight of it all finally reached my feet.
Nonetheless, with cemented shoes like the ones my relativity wore before me
I run.
So these footsteps remind just me, that running is…
There is nothing like running
The wind at the back of you
The rush of leaving what you know you are coming back to
Only somehow the time spent away from it
Feels like the hope you remember.
These footsteps feel as if they have lead me astray
Most of them guide me directly toward the impending finish line
But it looks as if I have never started running.
I’ve unknowingly unlaced my shoes
Exposed my socks to the air they have so desperately been missing
Sat down next to my problems
And
Talked to him about what running is.
As the clouds bring darkness nearer
and the day draws in
I’ll wait for you as promised
Under the ark of love
Where I’ll set you a tray of your warm tea nectar
On a table – clothed for my prince
Enticing to soothe away
those quarrels passed between us
Flickering candle light dances
Moody shadows melting
Temptation’s lure
Will wrestle away all trace of anger
Your high classed long legged Lolita
Sexily styled to seduce in red
Attentitively tuned to taking time
Frustratingly waits while you take phone call
"The pen is mightier than the sword"
- In general, I guess that's true
But mine's a lazy blighter;
It treats sloth as a bloody virtue
It's not the liveliest of beasts
It's always at a halt
It likes staring at blank paper
As though that's the thing at fault
It lives a charmed sedentary life
Full speed is torpidly inert
It charges around at the pace of a slug
When flat out and alert
My pen possesses zero 'nift' -
I can't fault it for being too nifty
Its' sweet repose is a full-on doze
It thinks saving ink is thrifty
It's scintillatingly steady
So passively at peace
Unchanging in its' inactivity
Like a grazing wildebeest
So languid and so supine
As it munches on my thought
Remaining ever restful
Seeing hibernation as a sport
It's frustratingly calm and fixed
To the point of being plain dull
And that's when it's being lively
It's worse still, when in a lull
But now and then I drag it
Out of its' latent, dormant air
Force it to get some exercise
And treat my thoughts with care
Often it’s quite useless
It's rare for the spark to light -
But when thought and pen work as one
Well, that's the time I write
PTSD
My nightmares are violent;
rifle jammed frustratingly dead,
broken stock useless as a club,
only a k-bar knife and free hand
reaching for those darting figures
leaping over my fighting hole.
The night terrors are far worse;
bolting upright out of deep sleep
screaming from hidden memories,
violence lost in the awakening,
these trauma never remembered
hidden so very deep in my psych.
My days and nights span endlessly
while sitting alone in an empty room,
sightless but seeing forty years ago,
no longer living in the relevant present
the past becomes my personal quagmire;
a Hell beyond address never resolved.
Coping with a forced duality of life
accomplishments become meaningless,
every success is infused with doubt,
past decisions are seen in darkness
and the future unnecessary unwanted,
the value of my life feels wasted.
Old thoughts and desires surface,
my death in Vietnam more merciful.
I lived while more deserving men died
those who may have avoided a faulty life
avoiding a repressed and cloistered mind;
how these feelings echo among Veterans.
Like a feather
Floating, not flat on the ground with footprints or children's grimy grasping hands
Fluttering the battered fibers in the weak wind
Like a kite
Flying, not frustratingly tangled in a tree with fights or children's tear streaked face
pleading
For mom or dad or some adult to get the thing free fast
Like a child
Carried on a loved ones shoulders, an older brother, or sister
An Aunt or Uncle
Lovingly showing this small one how to reach the stars in the sky
Like a soul safe in God's hands
Bad luck,
It seems all I've been getting lately
Bad luck,
I'm losing my family
Bad luck,
Mother and uncle have kidney failure
Bad luck,
We need a savior
Bad luck,
It's frustratingly difficult to focus in class
Bad luck,
I've broken so much glass
Bad luck,
I have shitty eyesight
Bad luck,
Why can't things ever go right?
Bad luck,
We have no money to make my teeth straight
Bad luck,
I've been a victim of so much hate
Bad luck,
Yeah, I've got it pretty rough
Bad luck,
But hey, at least I'm tough
Bad luck,
When will things finally work out?
Bad luck,
I'm sorry, I don't mean to pout
Oh my goodness,
what humans are willing to bare
to attract...
Beyond, the mock and mocking bareness
lies the convoluted angst of man,
pleasure seeking, in a self gratifying
wallow of excretions.
The need to roll…down the road…in the hay
to move like corpuscles down
the multitudinous arties of man.
Some draped in fuchsia, an orchid’s blush
with legs so long they make an ass of themselves.
Others tricked out in comfy cotton boostieas
breasts jiggling like jello, mounds of molded eye candy
firm, run-ready calves, taunt and on point
strut
ready to rut
on stiletto heels
still primed for and pandering to
the sought after alpha male.
The androgyny of the 21st century male-dom
making marking the target frustratingly
diff I cult
these drooping, wilted, round shouldered
bow-legged, net walkers seem unlikely sperm donors
for the next generation beyond the pale.
And as their lives settle in to settle down
in the whirlwinds of climate change
oil shortages, constant alpha stripping
further neuters the human potential
as the haves, feed the have nots
into the furnaces of endless war
the heard is culled………
"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear"
My life unfolds,i deflect love, braver face is worn
for top surface, iron armour,beneath dwelling cashmere
pantomine performed,staging through all acts
inside crying attention for love,outside the mask.
Deep deep, amongst depths of insecurity
conversational flow lacking,o frustratingly yearn normality
pent up tensions,no outlet,i just cry
there`s more unfortunate people, decaying in this world.
Paul Beadnall for
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
14/8/11.
Contest Name Just Write
When bad
unhealthy
unsafe choices
speak in WRONG! voices
delivering shame,
deserving shunning
and irrepressible self-blame,
Reconsider this jump
from bad choices
to "wrong" voices
unable to consider tomorrow's
potential more right rejoices.
No one of us humans
has divine omnipotent might
to make all the right omniscient choices
spoken belatedly by unchosen judgment voices
To be omnipresently good
and regeneratively healthy
and impenetrably safe
for ourselves
for our loved ones
for our species
for our plants
and living planet
at all times,
in all multicultural inside places,
and polyculturally robust
outside wealthy spaces.
On better days,
well fed and watered and rested,
we may try more benevolent curiosity
about why feeling good
and healthy
can seem so frustratingly short
and insignificantly small
compared to long time
and large resources
Invested by patriarchal god-fearing
straight white corporate capitalists
to entertainingly seduce
and identity reduce
you into isolated producer
of bad faith consumer
feelings
Erupting in egocentric
left-hemisphere dominant voices
that habitually collapse
bad
unhealthy absence
of potential co-relational rejoices
into inevitably wrong
unwealthy feminine marginalized
divisive survivalist choices
Speaking in wrong voices
delivering shame
deserving dark fame
swamped by irrepressible self blame
Not man enough
Not human enough
Not humane enough
to be truly
and beautifully divine.
An ocean, a calm vibrant ocean
The moon resting until it's his time to wake once more
and give light to night
No tides, no illustrious tides nor waves
to hinder the calm of this ocean
to disturb the depths of the sea floor nor the creatures it holds
It is there, there summons a shark
a silent shark, a small basking shark
mulling about, pacing back and forth in between it's giant walls
at first for thought, at first for a purpose, at first for a reason
but as time passes the moment is lost
the reason is gone and sits this shark with the ability
to swim like lightning
sits this threatening shark who is just as harmless as a starfish
fighting for control
trying to remember what purpose it has
trying to remember anything
anything short term but there it runs
an undersea rabbit as fast as it can be
and somehow the shark, sits a tortoise wanting to do something
but just sinks further and further hitting the bottom floor
A dark abyss, a darkness only lit by the sun fading ever so slowly...
'What's the point? ' he says frustratingly as he closes his eyes
What's the point...what's the point...
WISDOM IN WAITING
You ask impatiently for clear direction
Frustratingly--it has not yet come
Refusing researching--wise inspection
Following our instincts we succumb
God’s silence can mean nothing
Except go ahead as we feel right
We move forward –hastily rushing
Human natures irresponsible plight
Never discerning His perfect wise will
He needs us to ask—our duty to listen
God won’t heed the deadlines we instill
His way is clear—revealing His mission
There is nothing so madly frustrating like the sky being slightly above your head yet
said to be your highest limit
There is nothing so sadly annoying like knowing your loved yet feeling so hated
There is nothing so annoyingly irritating like being so brilliant yet being treated like
the most stupid thing that happened to humanity
There is nothing so provokingly saddening like lighting the life of people around you
yet filling your life with darkness
There is nothing so badly spiteful like seeing the best in people yet finding only the
worst in you
There is nothing so terribly annoying like being treated as a very precious jewel yet
feeling like the most useless trinket
There is nothing so humanly degrading like being the wealthiest person on earth
yet knowing that you are less than the most wretched church rat
And there is nothing so frustratingly annoying like feeling how you feel
SPECIAL INTEREST
With the thought processes of the masses overwhelmed
By the heavy burden
Of no influence on policy
And with little scope for advancement
Up the greasy pole
Insurrection and rebellion abound
Catching the chattering classes off guard
Traducing a broke government is the new game
To incite discontent and to pander to
Front page democracy the new weapon
Of those whose frustrations
Know no bounds
Unions and lobbyist throw their
Handbags out their prams
Yet they provide no new income streams
For a government on its knees
The pension pot is the new not to
Be touched holy grail
Its reverence brings to the fore those
Who wish every proceeding generation
To pay for today’s profligacy
Money comes money goes
Often the government seems to have none
To spend it all on special interest
Is a very selfish goal
This new era of austerity is but long overdue
A curb on the excesses that let the selfish
Do as they would please to do
With society’s blank cheques
A welcome break for the taxpayer
The one who petulantly foots the bill
Those that want more may need to pay more
A progressive system is not unwarranted
Tax is but essential to fill the pot
Those that have but give not
A blot on an otherwise decent lot
How selfishly all sides do behave
They want but refuse to give
To be the one who wins all
Exceeds all other considerations
No compromise is considered best policy
To lobby
To influence
To fool
These are the goals of the one sided
Minstrels of the selfish school
Knocked from their little thrones they rise
They but skew interest towards their cause
An unfair system
Built like a house of cards
That flutters in the wind of change
Selfishness is but a wanton Unhealthy game
A grand state of decay is society
Where wants and expectations
Outgun reality
A government unwilling to be brave
Allows democracy to shiver and shake
A useless waste of a vote
A dismal disgrace
Society is but made up of parts
That only function if all contribute
And everyone gains
Grappling hands should be slapped
We must all enjoy what our hard work has begot
A delicate balancing act is government policy
Frustratingly it seldom meets its aims
For the unintended consequences
Forever drown the initial good
Not everyone sadly wants policy to do some good
Seek out what’s best for you
Always remembering it’s not
All about you
The idea of Christmas snow in Michigan is replaced with fog
Hot breath exhaled to cold lollipop trees
My blurry life-sized polar bear salutes through the front window
To me
Staring back from the couch
He is sweating out there in his winter coat
House fills with noisy nightly ghosts
Filling empty beds left from the grown kids
Creaks I suppose from the settling attic on down
To the hips and knees of our house
Tail of that fool
The perpetually hopeful golden retriever
Bats the Christmas tree
With his wagging baton of joy from behind
Blue and red ornaments hold on for dear life
Ding and ring in the ruffle of evergreen and fanned fur
Like there’s a toddler of wind
Crawling down the hallways from the furnace and vents
Bells looped along the stairway railings
Jingle to life as a lurched Santa sleigh
From the paws of cats that frustratingly mitten
The harnessed snack
They think
Are silver mice and copper sparrows
A very bright young lady
Last day of work before Christmas Eve
Laughs in the Board room as she tells me
The old boss
“My Dad still writes From Santa on a few of my presents.”
I quietly understand and perhaps she does too
Something finally we could share across generations
Santa Claus is more for parents than kids.